Écouteur
by Audrey Roget
Summary: Scratching an itch – one of the most basic and satisfying animal pleasures. Rated MA. Inspired by the Fly on the Wall series by live journalista theonlymeyouget. See author's note. Beta thanks to luciddreamer326.


A/N: If you can read this, thank **theonlymeyouget**, whose tingle-inducing **Fly on the Wall** series inspired the following. It's probably not absolutely necessary to read those to understand this, but why in the name of all that is good and smutty wouldn't you? Thanks to the incredibly generous TOMYG for letting me take her 'verse for a little joy ride. **Écouteur** branches off into a parallel universe after the second FOTW story. Find all four at live journal under the handle "theonlymeyouget" and declare your unworthiness at the author's feet.

* * *

Cuddy's first impulse is to strip off her panties as soon as she gets through the door. She's already got the phone out, thumb poised on speed dial. On second thought, she snaps it shut, deciding to stretch the pleasure of anticipation out just a little longer.

She makes her way to the bedroom, not bothering to flip on any lights until she reaches the lamp atop her bedside table. Under its soft yellow glow, she undresses deliberately, taking time to fold and hang still-wearable articles of clothing and tossing the rest into the corner hamper. In the end, she leaves the white lacey thong in place and looks forward to sliding it down her legs while giving House the color commentary.

Procrastinating just a few more minutes, she turns down the bedding, plumps and scatters the pillows just so. She loves the feel of pure cotton against naked skin, anticipates the crisp rustling sound the sheets will make when her body rocks and churns. Who knows if House will pick up on it over the phone, but she'll hear it, and that thought alone makes the back of her neck tingle. Glancing down at the night-stand drawer, she licks her lips and reaches for the handle. Why not turn up the volume on this game one more notch?

When the ringing phone bursts the silent bubble of her preparations, Cuddy jumps, then grins smugly. Again, she holds back from opening the connection, dares herself to wait until just before it goes to voice mail.

"You weren't starting without me, were you?" House's voice insinuates itself into her ear, effortlessly spiking her heart rate.

"Where would the fun be in that?" She goes coy to mask any whiff of desperation. Trying to relax, she flops on the bed like a teenager about to launch a nightly two-hour gab-fest with her best friend.

"Comfy?"

She wriggles her bottom, pressing her legs together tightly. "Mmhmm…where are you?"

"Bathtub." She immediately pictures him wet, warm, naked.

"Damn you," she chuffs, then retaliates: "You should see what that did to my nipples."

There's a quiet guttural sound on the other end, followed by a rumbly, "Since I can't see you, I feel it necessary to ask – what are you wearing?"

"Pink toenail polish."

"That's it?"

"I was feeling shy, so I left my panties on."

"That's you, Modest Millie."

She chuckles softly. "I think they'll come off soon enough."

"So peel 'em."

"Commencing peelage," Cuddy quips. She snaps at the elastic and lifts her knees. "A little awkward one-handed…but I'm imagining it's not my hand anyway." Once off, she holds them up to the phone and rubs the fabric between her fingers. "Hear that?"

"Must be a relief to have that scratchy lace away from your tender skin."

"They're only a little itchy…and they're just an all-day reminder of how much I'd like to give a little scratch."

"Scratching an itch – one of the most basic and satisfying animal pleasures."

"Fortunately, I'm a human animal, which means I know how to use tools to achieve my ends."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning," she drops her voice to a whisper, "I'm not exactly alone."

"Is that so?" She ponders his tone. Accusatory or aroused?

In answer, she twists the ergonomically-designed dial and holds it up to the phone.

"Ah, Buzz Lightyear to the rescue." Aroused, for sure – and maybe a little...relieved.

"He's neon green and sparkly," she says, "and shaped…a lot like you." Blunt-headed, fat and handsomely curved.

"Then you'll obviously be needing plenty of Astroglide."

"My brand is better," she assures him, then holds the phone to her mouth as she sucks noisily on the tip of her toy.

"Oh yeah…get it nice and slick." It's as if his voice is coming from inside her head. She thought nothing could be more intimate than looking into his eyes while he watched her. She was wrong.

"_I_ have been for over an hour now."

"So I smelled. You're welcome." She can hear his evil, self-satisfied smirk. The one that makes her innermost muscles twitch entirely of their own accord.

When he told her he'd been fantasizing about going down on her, she could practically feel his words stroking over her like a rough tongue. She draws the vibe lightly between her labia, a jolt of pleasure shocking through her as she flicks it beneath the hood. Cuddy's back arches sharply as she cries into the phone.

"Fuck," House groans.

"Not quite yet," she giggles breathily. "Need to go slow with this bad boy." Cuddy begins rocking into the mattress and twists the vibe in slow, smooth strokes, stretching herself bit by bit.

As often as her memories of their night together years ago fill her mental space lately, more and more frequently, she finds herself guiltily imagining a future – preferably a near future – in which she feels House's flesh between her teeth, his weight on her, over her, behind her, his heat beneath her, filling her. She can see them so clearly this way, knows that his rough breathing and raw words tonight on the phone sound exactly as he would as she rode him. She flips over onto her tummy, rump pointed toward the stars, taut nipples scraping against the sheets.

"You've gone awfully quiet over there," he rasps.

"Mmm, sorry. Just…thinking."

"About?"

"Us."

"Michigan."

"No."

"Oh."

"I know, I know. But if you could see what I'm seeing…"

He hesitates a moment before asking, "Which is?"

"You on your back. Me on top. Both of us watching."

"Cuddy."

"Shut up. It's a fantasy, not a proposition."

"Better that way."

"If you say so."

"I do," he fires back, then mutters softly, "Especially because I'd probably have to do the driving to get across the finish line."

"Jesus, House," Cuddy groans as she quickly reverses her position, legs falling open, toes curling into the mattress. "I'm…I need both hands now." She jabs at a button on the phone and lays it at her side. "You're on speaker."

"I take it you didn't fork over for the Bunny Rabbit at the toy store?"

"Too complicated. Anyway, this is more realistic. My fingers know _exactly_ what to do." She lets out a long, sweet moan.

"Now that's something I actually can't argue with," he chuckles.

Her right hand travels, frustrated, between her clit and her breasts. She wets her fingers to pluck at the nipples, grousing, "I need at least one more hand."

"I'm sure bionics researchers are working on that as we speak."

The phone bounces slightly in rhythm with her grinding hips. She turns her head to the side, following it, suddenly needing answers. "How did we get here, House, how did this happen?"

Reading her mind, he throws back, "You mean, why is it after one night that would boil the brains of the _Penthouse_ Letters editor, we never talked about it for twenty years –"

" – and now we can say anything and everything while getting ourselves off, but no physical contact allowed?" Cuddy finishes the thought.

"Are you really choosing _now_ to complain about an unbroken streak of the most intense orgasms of your entire adult life?" He sounds truly baffled.

"I'm _not _complaining," she pants, losing track of the conversational thread. As usual, his bitching distracts her, even as it seems to drive her busy hands faster, faster…"Oh god, gotta…stop talking now…"

"That's okay, the pictures in my mind could paint a thousand dirty, dirty words."

"Fuck, House. I'm so close."

"Come on, baby," he sighs lustily, "Let go. Let me hear you explode."

She does, calling his name as promised, stringing five letters out into as many syllables, drowning out the whine of her House-shaped stand-in.

After a long, quiescent moment, Cuddy sluggishly reaches for the receiver and brings it to her ear. She's never understood the supposed turn-on of heavy breathing into the phone, let alone imagined that she'd become the breather. House's susurrations are ragged as well, and she pushes aside an aching wish to lie side-by-side with him, watching the synchronized rise and fall of their chests return to a slow and even pace. Even so, the silence between them is full, companionable.

"So," she eventually murmurs hoarsely, "Was it good for you?"

"You have _no _idea," he tells her fondly.

She hums a little. "Mmm, well then…you'll have to tell me _all_ about it."


End file.
